"What you are is in a negative balance. I believe you've lost again, Potter," Severus said, trying to keep the glee out of his voice. There was just something utterly satisfying about trouncing Potter that he couldn't rise above.
"Maybe, but I think Hermione's won this one," Potter said.
Severus did a quick calculation of their scores, and then gave a grudging nod. "So it seems. Well played, Professor."
She smiled and flushed like a schoolgirl. "Thank you. This was fun, but I think I'm going to have to call it a night. It's getting late."
"Thanks for playing," Potter said to her. "At least he didn't win every game with you here."
"Five out of six," Severus reminded them.
"Like I said, never teach a Slytherin how to play anything," Potter said.
"Because they'll beat you at your own game every time," Severus answered.
Hermione rocked on her cushion with laughter. "You two are really something. I'm so glad we played tonight."
"Beating Potter is always an enjoyable way to spend an evening," Severus drolly replied.
"Beating Harry! Really, Professor, that's too much information," she answered in an equally dry manner. Her brown eyes twinkled almost as merrily as Albus' used to as they held his own.
For a moment, Severus didn't understand what she was getting at. Or why Potter was giggling most unbecomingly beside her. But then his unintentional double entendre penetrated and Severus realized what she was implying. He tried not to show his shock, but he could feel his cheeks warming. "I would have thought such comments below you."
"You don't know me well, then, do you?" She giggled.
"Clearly," Severus agreed.
"I hope we'll remedy that. Will you and Harry come to the Three Broomsticks with Ron and me on Friday?" she asked with what appeared genuine enthusiasm.
Severus was still stunned by her positive reaction to the news that Potter and he were sexually involved. He'd expected disgust and hostility from all of Potter's cronies, not warm acceptance and awkward attempts to include him in their social circle. That this most Gryffindor of Gryffindors would extend him this kindness moved him terribly.
Severus looked to Potter to confirm that Harry did, in fact, desire his presence there. Seeing the same hopeful expression on his lover's face as on Hermione Weasley's, he gave a slow nod. "If you like, and if you're certain my presence will not cause . . . any problems."
With typical Gryffindor optimism, she seemed to choose to ignore the fact that her husband would prefer to immerse himself in a vat of acid rather than spend an evening in his former teacher's presence, and said, "Wonderful! Well, I'm off to bed. Good night."
She bent down and gave Potter a quick hug before leaving. They both watched her retreat through the open adjoining door to her chambers.
Once they were alone, Potter said, "That went very well, don't you think?"
"Amazingly so," Severus agreed. "Although, I wouldn't be so foolish as to anticipate a similar reception from her husband."
Harry's face clouded with concern. "No, I suppose you're right. He'll come around, though."
Severus looked away for a moment and tried to phrase what he had to say in a manner that wouldn't lead to another argument. "I know we touched upon this subject this morning, but -"
"Don't start that again, please?" Potter begged, looking up from where he was putting away the pieces of the game they'd just finished. "I know my friends make you . . . uncomfortable. I'm sorry for that, but that will fade as you all get used to each other."
"Your Gryffindor sense of honour is laudable in this situation, but –"
Severus broke off as Potter banged the game tiles down on the table and rose to his feet. Once again, there was anger in those green eyes, but as Potter glared at him, it slowly faded. The handsome man with the dishevelled black hair who'd been sharing his bed these last few weeks stared at Severus a minute longer and then came to sit beside him on the couch. "It's not about honour. It's nothing as cold or impersonal as that. You're not some stranger I picked up in a bar. We've been together every night for the last three weeks, and it's been fantastic. That makes me . . . care about you. I can't and won't act as though you're some kind of dirty secret, especially not with my friends. Please don't ask me to."
Severus had never been anything but a dirty secret, something regretted in the morning light. And that had been twenty years ago, when he was younger and presumably more attractive. He was so out of practice, so unused to dealing with people on a personal level that he hardly knew how to respond to a lover who respected him.
Severus tried to answer Harry's words, but his throat had tightened up painfully. That this heroic young man could feel this way about him was astounding. He'd enjoyed the sex enough to be willing to settle for whatever Potter deigned to give him, his pride be damned. But Harry wasn't asking that of him.
What Potter was offering him was unprecedented. Not just sex, but friendship and sex. Emotionally overwhelmed, Severus simply didn't know how to respond. He needed to, because he didn't want Potter to misunderstand his silence, but he couldn't get his voice to work.
To his astonishment, instead of the anger or disappointment he'd expected, Potter's gaze gentled as it rested upon him. Then Harry slipped his arms around him and drew him into a long kiss that had as much to do with comfort as it did passion.
Maybe this caring Potter spoke of incorporated some level of understanding, for the gentleness of the kiss was exactly what Severus' inexplicably fragile composure needed at the moment. Even if Severus himself hadn't known it.
Harry finally lifted his mouth away, but didn't pull back. Rather, his fingers rose to stroke over Severus' features, to tenderly brush back his unwashed hair as though the lank strands were some precious treasure. "We're good together, aren't we? So good."
Warm, moist breath brushed Severus' face, scented with the butterbeer Potter had consumed earlier. The whispered words made him shudder. He hadn't lost control of his motor skills yet, just speech, so he forced a nod. He was rewarded with another sweet kiss for his response.
Severus took strength from this one, allowing it to calm him. He tried to tell himself that it would be all right. Enjoying something didn't necessarily mean he'd suffer for it, despite what all of his previous experience might insist to the contrary. Hermione had said that Potter cared for him. For all the grief he'd given her as a student for being a know-it-all, in all the years they'd been acquainted, he'd never known her to be wrong, about anything. If her opinion wasn't enough, Harry had come right out and said it to him tonight. Whatever was happening between them, it was unlike anything he had ever known before, and, although that was frightening in itself, it also meant that the old patterns needn't apply. It didn't necessarily follow that allowing himself to . . . trust Potter or become attached to him would result in his utter destruction. This was Harry Potter, the saviour of the Wizarding World, not Lucius Malfoy. Even if outsiders did know what was between them, it didn't mean he'd be made a laughing stock when Potter eventually tired of him.
When he felt more himself, Severus pulled back from the kiss.
The warm, sexual glow in Potter's eyes seemed to reach out and embrace him. That this handsome man hungered for his unsightly body still astounded him.
Harry's open desire reminded him of an issue he'd been putting off for as long as they'd been . . . sharing flesh. There was something he'd been meaning to address for the last three weeks, but hadn't quite worked up the nerve yet. Though they'd been together every night for the last twenty-one days, and Potter had had his fingers and his . . . power up inside him, Harry hadn't actually penetrated him with his penis yet. Severus had begged for it quite shamelessly in bed every night, but so far it had never happened. He was beginning to fear it never would.
Although Severus really wanted to know why, he hadn't had the self-confidence to tackle the sensitive topic yet. The epithet Greasy Git and the like that had haunted him his entire life still made it hard for him to accept that someone this attractive could really want him; plus, there was that whole crippling concept that a 'real wizard' didn't ask to be taken. With anyone else, Severus would have thought it was the latter concern, but the first morning after Potter had come to his dungeon rooms to suggest that they continue this liaison, Harry had insisted that he'd liked that he'd had the courage to ask for what he wanted. Severus had been asking to be taken for weeks now, and his request had been ignored. He didn't know why, and the opportunity to discuss the situation hadn't really presented itself yet.
But this finally felt like the right moment to test the waters, as it were. Locking his gaze with those heated green eyes, Severus asked in his driest tone, "Tell me, Potter, would you like to fuck your nasty Potions teacher?"
It was pure Slytherin bluff. Severus was so worried that he'd see disgust that he was nearly shaking inside. From everything they'd done, he suspected that Potter wanted to take him and was holding himself back for some incomprehensible reason, but he couldn't be sure. He was clueless when it came to other people's emotions.
He couldn't even deal with his own. Severus knew that he either turned his emotions off and pretended they didn't exist, or indulged them to inappropriate degrees at inappropriate times. But for once, he seemed to have interpreted the situation correctly and acted in an appropriate manner. Or, at the very least, he'd finally made the offer in a manner Potter couldn't ignore.
Now he'd know what the problem was. Potter was many things, but a good actor wasn't one of them. Harry lied far less frequently than he had during his school years, but he was still as obvious about it as he'd been back then. If Potter truly didn't want this, Severus would know, and quite probably be able to interpret the reason at this point.
To his unending relief, Potter's handsome face didn't twist with disgust at the crude suggestion. Harry's breath puffed out on his cheek in a faint gasp.
A sensuous smile spreading over his full lips, Potter said, "I thought you'd never ask."
Instant agreement wasn't what he was anticipating.
"Never ask?" Severus felt his brow wrinkle. "I've been begging for it every night for the last three weeks."
"But that doesn't count," Harry said.
"What?" Severus tried not to snap, but his nerves were strung too taut. Not count? A naked man begging to be taken at the height of passion didn't count?
"I was flooding your system with my power all those times. It was no different than if I'd had you under Imperius. If I'd asked it of you, you'd have let me cut your heart out," Potter said.
As with so much with Harry, this wasn't something he'd even considered. The young man had held back from making love with him because Harry was afraid he was misusing his greater powers?
Only a Gryffindor, Severus gave a mental sigh. He was besieged by the contradictory impulses to both kill and kiss this lovable idiot for the same reason. Of all the lunacy he'd ever heard. Imperius, indeed. When Severus thought he could answer without betraying how insane he thought his lover, he gently protested, "I've been under Imperius numerous times, Potter. I assure you, the conditions bear no resemblance."
Potter gave a blank, "They don't?"
"Imperius turns you to rock and makes you hate your own body," Severus whispered, lowering his gaze.
"And me?" Harry nervously asked.
Severus met Harry's eyes again and hesitantly whispered, "You melt my very bones."
"I do?"
Severus gave a breathy snort at the sincere shock. It was his nature to hide, but . . . he wanted Harry to know how much he moved him. His tone low and serious, he assured, "You do. And, just for the record, you have an open invitation. You don't need to ask or be asked. Any time, any place."
There, that should be clear enough even for a Gryffindor hero with a hyperactive conscience.
Severus heard the gulp Potter gave. Surely, the man must have had some inkling of how susceptible he was to his charms?
"How about my bed in about two minutes?" Potter asked in a hoarse, emotional whisper.
Severus nodded and allowed Potter to guide him to his feet, and thence into the bedroom. It was very different from his own sleeping chamber.
The large, bevelled window with its window seat overlooking the lake immediately drew his eyes to the right. Moonlight was seeping in through the open drapes, washing the room with an eldritch silver light.
Severus expected the colour scheme to be Gryffindor scarlet and gold, but the drapes on the windows and the canopied bed were a rich, dark blue. Near the window stood a gray easy chair and an end table with an open book on it. The duvet on the bed was a matching dark blue with white piping, and the pillowcases a stark white. Several dressers and a wardrobe took up the other two walls, while the fourth hosted an enormous hearth.
The pictures on the mantel were mostly of Potter and his two childhood friends at a variety of ages. One on the right end was a family shot of a horde of redheads that could only be the Weasley Clan. Black and Lupin watched him from across the room in yet another photo – Black with a disgusted sneer on his face as he took in their embrace, and Lupin with a mildly surprised smile. There was another of Albus and Minerva that must have been taken before Potter's fourth year, because neither of them had ever looked that carefree after the Triwizard Tournament and the start of the last war.
To Severus' complete mystification, there was also one of himself. It was obviously the most recent addition, for its frame jockeyed for space in front of two shots of Potter and the Weasleys. In the photo, Severus saw himself standing in a woodland scene that was unnervingly familiar. It was the spot where he'd first kissed Potter. Only, he didn't think this picture had been taken after that event. If it had been, Potter would have been in the photo, and they would have been . . . occupied. This photograph showed only Severus himself. He was leaning against the deadfall, staring off into the woods with a pensive expression on his face. When the photo image of himself looked over at the pair of them standing with their arms around each other, that puzzled frown only intensified.
